


when you think about it, do you remember me?

by theweightofmywords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, POV First Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years changes a face. Years of raising my eyebrows in skepticism have lined my forehead. I feel my eyebrows raised so high they might be touching my hairline, because, even from the other side of the park, I know it's him. Five years changes a person, but I still know his face.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5226077"> you'll see me in hindsight.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	when you think about it, do you remember me?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns these characters. Title taken from the song "Do You Remember" by Jarryd James.

Five years changes a face. Years of raising my eyebrows in skepticism have lined my forehead. I feel my eyebrows raised so high they might be touching my hairline, because, even from the other side of the park, I know it's him. Five years changes a person, but I still know his face. 

"Ron?" I call out. I bite my lip nervously, and I feel like I'm 23 again. 

He looks over and walks towards me. He's hesitant, I can tell by the start and stop of his steps, but when he is halfway, he walks more quickly, a trace of a smile on his face. 

"Hermione?" he replies. He's holding a bag of chestnuts, and the cold air has turned his cheeks rosy pink. I remember the feel of it under my nose, and I wonder if he remembers that too. 

"How are you?" I ask, and my voice shakes. I laugh a little, and to my relief, he laughs too. 

"Good. I've been well, thanks. And you?" 

"I went back to school," I say, gesturing towards my backpack. "I'm working on my dissertation." 

His eyebrows raise now too, as his eyes go wide. 

"Wow. International Relations?" His head tilts as he asks, and I smile even more because he remembered. He stands beside me, and we lean against the fence that surrounds a playground. 

"Yeah. I went back to school not long after..." 

His smile wavers for the briefest of moments, but he smiles again. 

"Well, what has it been? Five years?" he shrugs, and he laughs, though it sounds forced. And I remember what it was like to really hear him laugh, and I can feel the moment slipping away. 

"And you? What have you been doing?" I ask, because if this is all I might get, I shouldn't waste it on small talk. 

Ron's mouth forms a straight line now, and I wonder if I've made him angry, but I don't care, as long as it keeps this moment from ending. 

"I'm not in the business anymore, if that's what you're wondering," he answers, raising his chin higher. 

"That's good, Ron, really," I murmur, and I know he's feeling ashamed. I hate that I've done that again.

"It wasn't bad that you were in it," I add, and I look at him hoping that he's looking at me. He is.

"No, it wasn't. I did what I had to do." 

"Or who you had to do," I mumble. My face grows hot as I register my bad joke. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive." 

But he's laughing, and then I'm laughing, and he's shaking so hard that a few roasted chestnuts fall out of the bag. 

"Your chestnuts!" I lament in gasps. 

"It's fine. I don't even know why I bought these, I'm not even hungry," he replies, and I notice he's not as skinny as he was before. I start to wonder what he does now for a living that he can afford to buy food just because. I remember how ravenously he used to eat the dinners I bought for him. 

"Big spender, buying chestnuts just because," I joke. 

"I can afford it now. All those years of hard work have paid off," he jokes. I feel the smile slide off my face. 

"How long did you stay in the business?"

He looks away for a moment, and it feels like I'm driving too fast on a rainy day. I wonder if we're about to crash. 

Looking back at me, his face is solemn now. 

"I quit not long after you." 

Remembering that night, I still can't bear to wear the same nightgown, and I stopped using that purse. That night, I stopped buying intimacy, and I started being alone. I was a fool then, and Ron made me see it. 

"Ron, I'm sorry I-" 

"There's no need to apologize. It's in the past, right?" he interjects, and his smile is back again. I can't help but notice that it's the kind he used on me when we first met, when he was playing a role. When the envelope on the dresser was a matter of business and not yet the elephant in the room. 

"I've worried about you," I tell him, and I know that it's too late for me to shut my big mouth. 

"You shouldn't. I can take care of myself," he replies, and he's staring at his chestnuts instead of me. 

"I know that, I just-" I trip over all the words I want to say to him. "I still think about you."

His face is expressionless as he blinks, and I wonder when he became so good at being unreadable. I suppose it was when he began sleeping with people to make money. I wonder if who I thought was his genuine self was just another role of his, and I feel my chest aching again. 

"I have to go," he announces, and he moves off the railing. 

I turn my face away, and I close my eyes and pray that when I open them, there won't be any tears. I hate that I've gone weak for him again. I nod to let him know that I heard him loud and clear. 

"Hermione," he mumbles, and I don't trust myself to look at him. 

"Yeah," I say, my eyes still closed. 

"It was good to see you," he says quietly, and I wonder if this is the last time I'll see him. I turn my head to look at him, and he's standing in front of me. He looks sad, and it makes me wonder if he's telling the truth. Am I just a reminder of the darkest period of his life? 

"Yeah," I repeat, and I try to smile. 

"Are you happy?" he asks, his eyes concerned. It makes me want to weep. 

"Yeah," I shrug, and I know he sees right through me. I'm happy enough. I'm young and successful. I'm smart and educated, and I have a few good friends and a cat that adores me. I can date, but I just don't, because no one has ever come close to what I had with Ron, and the fact that I don't even know if it was real or not fills me with regret.

"Good," he answers, and now, it's his turn to look away. I wonder why he even asked. I'm about to announce that I need to be somewhere, even though I don't, when he starts talking. 

"I'm sorry too, you know. About the way I left, right after you told me... It was harsh, and I don't know if it hurt you, but if it did, I'm sorry," he's rambling now, and I notice my heart jumping at this realization, because this- this feels real to me. 

"I've always wondered what happened to you. I mean, I saw you from time to time in the papers, but I just wondered if you were okay. If you were still lonely, or overworked," he continues. 

"Not that I was checking up on you or anything," he adds, and I can't help it. I chuckle, because this is the Ron I remember. How we used to stay up at night and just talk, our naked bodies close together under the hotel sheet. 

"I tried looking for you," I say quietly. 

"But it would've never worked, you know. I was a prostitute, for Christ's sake, and you're you! And, I had no money. I mean, I had some saved but it wasn't anything that I could really live off of yet. I kept at it for another month or so, but then I left. I went back to school, and the whole time, I thought of you. How you were so smart, and I felt so dumb, and school was hard, but I did better than I thought I would," he explains, and I wonder if he heard me. 

"I have a job that sounds completely boring now, but I like it. I'm good at it. I bought my parents a house, and I don't have to turn tricks, probably ever again. Jesus! What a life," he laughs a little as he stares at his chestnuts again. 

"I'm proud of you," I tell him, because I am. 

"Yeah, well I didn't do it for you. I did it for me," he replies, and he sounds defiant again. I wish there was a way that I could tell him that he doesn't have to fight with me. "I'm on your side," I want to say. 

"I know," is what I say instead. 

"You looked for me?" he asks, glancing up. He looks sad again. 

I nod. "But then I thought that maybe you didn't want me to find you, that maybe you hated me. So I stopped."

"I didn't hate you," he murmurs. "I could never hate you."

"But you couldn't love me," I whisper. And, ah. Now we're getting to the heart of the matter, and I feel dizzy.

"Not back then," he says, smiling sadly. "But that was the past."

"And now?" I ask, even more quietly. I wrap my arms around my middle. He stands beside me, leaning against the railing again. He moves closer, our shoulders brushing. 

"It's been five years. A lot has changed," he answers. 

I look down and I wonder if I'm still the same fool I was that night when I was convinced that he was different with me, that he would leave the business just because I told him that I loved him. How could a person be so smart in every other way but be such an idiot when it came to love? I'm only human, and my love for Ron has always been my biggest flaw. Or my biggest strength, depending on what you value more. I have the world at my fingertips, and _yet._

"Are we too late?" I wonder out loud, and I take the risk of looking at him. The beginnings of a smile spread across his face. 

"What do you think? Are we too late?" he asks, and as he looks at me, I think I see hope in his eyes. I feel my hands drop to my sides. 

"Not if we don't want it to be," I chance. 

He smiles. 

"Okay," he replies, and he leans back against the railing. Our fingers brush, and just as I'm about to move my hand away, he takes my hand in his.


End file.
